


A Field of Poppies

by Mithen



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: Diana and Bruce talk after Clark's funeral.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BradyGirl_12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/gifts).



The wind tossed the grass as it raced up the hill to touch Diana. Behind her was the graveyard in which they had put a man she never had a chance to call friend. Beside her was a man she hoped could be a comrade.

Warriors together. It had been a long time.

She gazed out across the field. Clark’s grave had smelled of freshly-dug earth. She remembered barbed wire against the moonlit sky and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself, shivering, though the chill of the wind couldn’t touch her.

“He’s not the first friend you’ve lost,” Bruce said, his voice low.

“You saw the picture,” Diana said. “You know your world's history.”

She felt Bruce nod. They looked out across the field together in silence.

“I--” Bruce broke off and swallowed hard. “We just met him and now we have to live the rest of our lives without him. It seems so unfair.”

The autumn-golden grass trembled in the wind, and Diana could see scarlet flowers dotting its expanse like drops of blood.

Diana had come back to Paradise Island long ago with handfuls of fine dark seed, had walked the island that spring strewing seed across the fields, silent and alone. That summer the green grasses had shimmered with new flowers, lush and crimson, that her sisters had never seen. “For memory,” Diana had said when they asked why she had brought them, smiling her new sad smile. 

The grass tossed in the wind and the poppies bloomed, beautiful and heedless of grief as they did every spring. As they always would. 

“It is unfair,” Diana whispered. The wind caught her words and carried them away. “It is always unfair.”


End file.
